A Day Like Today

A day like today I wanted nothing more than to get my bike out of the garage, redownload Pokémon Go, and go for an idyllic summer adventure. I then remembered my bike was broken.

I walked to the market to pick up more La Croix, a drink that in past lives I'd kneejerk-mocked as tasting like bad water, and paying for the taste of bad water. But the sensation of opening a can and the lack of all calories make it a perfect complement to times when coffee either doesn't cut it or is sorely unhealthy after the 75% of a pot I'd already drunk that day, and when it's too early for that first beer.

The market front is always full of flowers I'll never remember, which as a non-gardener just saves their mystery and beauty to refill anew on every visit. I wish my sense of smell was better as I walk past every time, but I catch the Cliffs notes. I like the different pot designs and vases that they come in, though. In times past I wonder which pots from ancient dig sites would have been filled with wine, and which with grains, and which designs would have held flowers to keep in cities and towns.

On second thought, the idea of plucking flowers to grow out of the earth was probably an insult to at least a few of their gods they kept back then.

On my walk back home I pass a few neighbors running about their routines, and always wonder whether I'm catching them on a few-minute break from work or if they're one of the elusive House-entities whose significant others make up their home's vanguard into the world of wage-earning. I go back and forth on whether I'd lose my mind without work, but I've probably been conditioned to think so. 

They could also just be unemployed. Or have the day off. Or retired. 

I like not knowing my neighbors. We agree at distance and get along with a nod and smile. We're running our own races. Not everything has to be shared. 

As I turn the key and push into my home, my daily summer bout is again at its end. The 72° air greets me with a rough slap on the back and I drag my feet to my work desk. A green check box lights up next to my name once again. 

Welcome back, Drew, a program flashes in my face, coded by someone who'd probably rather have been outside.